A series of Strike Team Delta one shots
by EvenBirdsNeedToLearnHowToFly
Summary: Exactly what it says on the tin.
1. The Hydra incident

**So this is a thing now, a place for me to put the random one shots that wont leave my head. Not entirely sure what this is, I wrote it half asleep at 3am but we're going with it. This one follows the same verse as I'm glad you're alive, maybe a prequel? I don't know. You don't have to read either of them for the other to make sense however certain things may make more sense if you do. There should be updates to this fairly regularly but then again it's me so we will see. Please follow and favourite if you enjoy and want more or check out my profile for more stories on Strike team delta because they're awesome. Obviously I do not own these characters or anything Marvel.**

Coulson walked down the bustling corridor, this stormy face parting the waters like the red sea. The newer, greener recruits were terrified, the stories they had heard about the infamous handler and his agents coming to the forefront of their minds as they edged towards the wall, attempting to make their discomfort discreet. The older more experienced agents backed away as well, knowing the look on his face meant trouble. Sitwell chanced a fleeting smile, mentally praying for whoever had angered his friend when he received no response from the usually mild-mannered agent. Eyes followed him in his wake, looking to see where he was headed. The agent reached his destination shortly, slowing in front of a door bearing the name Agent Sanders. There was no hesitation as the door was pulled open and swung shut with a resolute bang. No one envied Sanders, yet no one doubted he deserved it. Coulson was protective, and deadly when the need arose, but he was well known for being fair. The soundproof door masked the sounds coming from inside and no one was wishing otherwise. Coulson was downright terrifying when he was angered, and no one needed to be dealing with terrified recruits this early in the morning. One thing was for sure though, Sanders had fucked up big time.

Meanwhile in S.H.I.E.L.D.S medical ward…

Natasha heard her partners breathing falter nearly imperceptibly before she saw him still, attempting to keep up the facade of sleep.

"It's okay,'' she said, seeing him jolt but then relax at the sound of her voice. "We're in S.H.I.E.L.D." her voice was slurred slightly, and her accent was creeping in but considering the amount of pain she was in and how bad a concussion she was sporting, she felt like she could let herself off. His eyelids flickered for a moment before opening to reveal the familiar shocking blue eyes.

"How you feeling?" She asked, closing her own eyes to the glare of the lights now she had confirmed his presence in the land of the living.

"High as a kite." came the response. She heard his bedsheets rustle and immediately knew what he was looking for. "He left a few minutes ago, presumably to chew out whoever that intel came from. Talking of which, apparently somebody neglecting to mention the fact that there is a known Hydra stronghold nearby can be added to the list of things that make him do 'The Face'."

"Was"

"Sorry?"

"There Was a Hydra base nearby. Now it's a crater." There was a moment's hesitation before he continued. "Tasha. Take the damned painkillers, they try to force them down you for a reason you know."

Dammit, even drugged and concussed she shouldn't have put it past him to notice, he was called Hawkeye for a reason after all. "You know I can't" She said in a small voice, hating herself for her vulnerabilities. "What made it obvious?"

"The accent that normally only comes through in extreme pain or when you haven't slept for a week, you're slurring when painkillers don't usually do that to you. Also, Coulson left you, alone, he would never do that if you were doped up and I can't exactly blame him after last time."

"I wasn't alone, I had you."

"Yeah, an unconscious me, fat lot of good that's going to do against the widow."

She sighed. "I never needed them before S.H.I.E.L.D. and I don't need them now. They are a weakness." She opened her eyes, squinting against the blinding lights but avoided looking in his direction, unable to face the eyes that seemed to bore into you and see all you ever tried to hide.

"And we're sure that's the reason?" His voice wasn't judgemental or probing and she was once again eternally grateful for the man named Clint Barton.

"Me and Russia have a long history of disagreements, always have and always will. And as usual, Russia wins. Me not being completely under my own control would be a very bad idea right now, trust me. I might know the difference between morphine and the Red Room, but the widow doesn't." She had given up trying to cover up her accent when Clint pointed it out which felt kind of contradictory when talking about hating Russia, but it couldn't be helped.

Just as Clint opened his mouth to reply, Coulson walked back in and the subject was dropped, thought knowing her partner as she did, it wouldn't be for long. Their handler looked alarmingly pleased at something compared to the usual mother hen expression that would reside on his face at their bedside. She didn't envy the person who had been in charge of the FUBARed mission that had nearly cost them their lives. Coulson was protective over his strays.


	2. The Hill part 1

**So I'm doing a reshuffle because I'm trying to get back into writing regularly and it makes more sense to me to keep all of my one shots and short stories about Strike team Delta in one place. I've got a few more of these that used to be posted separately to put up tonight but then this will only be updated if and when I write for it, my main focus currently is trying to work on multi chapter fics that I have running. This is short and it is intended for there to be a follow up chapter so that should be coming at some point. Warnings for language and poor writing :) Please follow, favourite and review because it makes my day and there is a lot more from where this came from. Check out my other stories for longer, more plotty Clint and Natasha. **

She suspected from the offset that this wasn't going to be a fun mission. Now, trudging up the sodden hill, she could confirm in fact that the mission was definitely not fun. She was soaked down to her skin, her waterproof gear deciding to just stop being waterproof. Clint hadn't stopped whining since they started and she was approaching the point of murdering him and blaming it on the gang they were hunting down. This wasn't what she imagined for her first trip to England, as picturesque as the village they were hiding in was, she had hoped for more tea and less evil masterminds. She suddenly heard voices from the other side of the hill they had nearly reached the top of and stuck her hand out to stop Clint. Misjudging where he was, she had accidently caught him off guard, knocking him over. He had grabbed onto her to try and save himself and they both ended up tumbling down the hill, coming to a stop in a slightly more level bit about a quarter of the way down.

"What the fuck, Tas-" Natasha had pushed him back down to the soggy ground, clamping a hand over his mouth, pointing to the direction the voices had come from. He stopped trying to get back up, instead listening out to what she had indicated. She saw his superior eyes flick to the top of the hill, staring through the suffocating darkness and lashing rain. He turned back to her, his hands forming shapes and patterns that she could barely see. She struggled in the darkness to make out what he was saying but got the basics. 2 men, armed. She replied, still amazed by how on earth he could make out if they had weapons when she could barely see their figures. There was unfortunately no cover around, forcing them to press themselves into the hill and hope for the best. Clint indicated to his bow, knowing it was the quietest way to eliminate them but she shook her head. If they could get away with not being seen, they may be able to follow them, hopefully being led to their base they had been hunting for.

She soon gave up all hope on that plan when one of the men reached for his gun, turning in their direction. He should have been too far away to see them yet and the rain would have covered their earlier noise. Upon closer inspection she noticed he had night vision goggles ever his eyes. She was on her feet instantly, heading for the other man who hadn't yet noticed them. Clint quickly sorted out the other one, she watched him drop to the ground gripping his throat as rivers of blood careened around the arrow shaft embedded in his neck. His partner wasn't long after him, unconscious rather than dead as his head made contact with a well placed rock in the ground. She picked herself up from where she had landed with her infamous thigh choke to see Clint pulling his arrow from the now dead man.

"What are we meant to do with them? We can't leave them here but we're in the middle of nowhere, there's nothing around for miles."

She looked at him in disbelief. "Didn't kill mine, dumbass. We take him for questioning, his friend for motivation." Her face was grim as she bound and blindfolded their prisoner whilst Clint hoisted his into a fireman's lift. She really hoped they didn't run into anyone on the way back to the small town, they weren't exactly inconspicuous carrying two bodies. They both looked down at the mud pit that had become the hill and sighed, before slowly attempting to slide trudge down it. Clint had just taken a step when his foot lost traction and both he and his human turned rag doll fell. "That's it. I'm done, this is my life now. I have climbed this hill and now I shall die upon it." The words were slightly muffled by the hill he was currently face down in, but the meaning was clear enough.

"Stop being so melodramatic. We need to get there before sunrise or I'm bolting and leaving you to explain it to the police."

The walk down was long and tiring, both of them falling, literally, subject to the hills mercy at least a few times. Aside from a few birds and the odd cat there was nothing out and about in the small hours of the morning. It took them a few hours and the sun just starting to show for them to reach their safe house, a cute little holiday home on the far side of the village. The second they walked in, Clint unceremoniously dumped the body on the floor and proceeded with the safety checks and resetting the locks whilst Natasha secured their prisoner to a chair. Tightly. She probably went a bit overkill considering he had looked terrified out of his wits and barely put up a fight on The Hill, but she was tired, muddy and the only thing standing between her and a nice warm shower was the perfect candidate to take her anger out on. Once there was no way on earth he was getting out of the bonds, they took it in turns to shower and dress in clean clothes and once they were both no longer imitating mud monsters, Clint grabbed the smelling salts.

15 minutes later and Natasha decided that she had definitely gone overkill. Their prisoner had cracked like an egg upon seeing their faces, they hadn't even needed to bring his friend out. Which she was eternally grateful for, he was messy and covered in blood and she had just about managed to get the dirt out from under her fingernails. She was in no way squeamish but if she could avoid having to spend another 10 minutes cleaning her nails, she would. He was shaking like a leaf and had told them everything they wanted to know and more. She never thought she'd be listening to a supposed 'bad guy' telling them where he kept his mayonnaise jar, but apparently this was her life now. Clint had a little dent in his cheek where she knew his was biting the inside of his mouth to keep from laughing as the man rambled on and on, flinching whenever one of them so much as breathed.

Some hours later and they were back on The Hill. It was unfortunately the only way to get to the base that didn't require a 10 hour detour and whilst it had stopped raining, the ground was no less sodden. Once they had gotten everything they needed out of the man, Clint had tranqed him (thought he was fairly sure he passed out the second he saw Clint reaching for his bow) and they headed to his house, retrieving his ID and key card to the base and got changed into 2 spare pairs of uniforms. They were now headed for the base, following the helpful map the man had drawn out for them.

"Gotta say, out of all the prisoners we've ever taken, he's got to be the most helpful. How many times have we been able to take uniforms off a hook rather than a dead body?"

"Not many." She sighed. "What are the chances that this is a trap? It just seems too easy." Natasha asked, ignoring the eye roll Clint gave in response.

"You know the world isn't out to get us right? Just because something is relatively easy for once doesn't mean it has to be a trap. Besides, I don't think even you could fake being that terrified. He looked like he was about to shit his pants."

"Oh shut up, just because I don't want another Budapest scenario." She reached up to remove a strand of hair that had fallen into her face and only succeeded in making a muddy mess on her cheek. She groaned, giving up and accepting her hair's slow descent back into filth.

As they approached the base, they slowed and turned silent, hoping to avoid detection for as long as possible. However, there was no need as the place was seemingly deserted. Creeping through the corridors revealed nothing more and Natasha was becoming suspicious. Clints eyes were excessively flicking up and down the corridors and he kept fingering his weapons, something she has noticed was a nervous habit of his, so it was safe to say that he was feeling likewise. Finally, she decided to address the elephant in the room corridor.

"Does this feel odd to you? It not even the graveyard shift, maybe what I said earlier wasn-" She was cut off mid word by a sudden blow to the head that came out of nowhere and crumpled to the ground.

**Sorry not sorry. TBC.**


	3. Medical leave

**I dont own Marvel. Think that's pretty obvious. Follow and favourite if you enjoy and please tell me what you think **

Waiting in the relative's room of a hospital sat Agent Phil Coulson. He had just come off of the phone, speaking to Director Fury as to how his two best agents had ended up injured, again. Both had just about finished their enforced medical leave when he had been approached about this mission. He had accepted, thinking it would be a nice and easy milk run to break them both back into shape. How wrong he was. The mission had gone spectacularly wrong and now his two agents would probably spend the next month driving him crazy. 2 bored assassins was never good, but 2 bored, concussed assassins doped up on pain meds, well that was just a disaster waiting to happen. It could be worse though, Coulson thought, it could always be worse.

2 days later

"Coooooouulsooooooooon"

"Yes, Clint?"

"I'm booooooooooored."

"I can give you some paperwork to do if you're bored, we could start to make a dent in the huge pile of forms you two created by blowing up a safe house, losing a biological weapon, finding said biological weapon only to lose your prisoner, before allowing said prisoner to blow up said biological weapon."

"Technically, we didn't allow him to blow up the weapon. Like we tried to stop him, but when "said prisoner" has previously unknown about powers that means he can blow thing up just by looking at something, not too much we can do about it."

"Yeah, it's not like we wanted him to blow it up. " a sleepy voice chimed in from the other side of the room. "Now we're on medical leave, again, for the next ever and have a furious Fury on our case."

"And anyway, it's not like we failed the mission."

"Barton, your mission was to get the weapon out of the enemy's hands, not to blow up half of Nebraska." An incredulous sounding Coulson replied.

"Well no one is getting hold of the weapon now are they? And it's not like the terrorists actually have hands anymore, so as far as I can see, which is pretty far, everyone wins ."

"Except for the poor clean up crew that had to scrape dead terrorists off of the ground. And all of the now homeless people who lived in the area that had to be evacuated. And the poor people who were stuck explaining to the government why there is now a 10 mile exclusion zone in the North of Nebraska. And the poor person who has to sort out the paperwork for all this, a.k.a. me. But yeah, wins all round."

"Yeah but the houses were ugly anyway. One of them had a pink door! A. Pink. Door. What would possess someone to do such a thing?"

"I personally find the colour pink quite a nice colour."

"You don't get an opinion here, Tash. But seriously Coulson, it was for the greater good. Now there is one less pink door in the world."

"Barton?"

"Yes, sir ?

"Stop talking."

"Sir, yes sir." In Clint's opinion, it was totally worth pulling at his stitches with his salute when he saw Coulson's facepalm.

"Coooooouulsooooooooon"

Sigh. "Yes Natasha?

"I'm booooooooooored."

He was wrong, Coulson thought, nothing could get worse than this.


	4. Where to, Boss?

**This is just a little thing I wrote ages ago and it's a little OOC on both parts but its Clint and Coulson and a one shot so here we are. I've cleaned up the story a bit from when it was posted before but I'm still not terribly happy with it. Anyway, ta ta for now. **

Bullets echoed off the metal building where my legs had been moments before. I dropped from the factory roof, swinging myself in through an already broken window at the last second. I landed funny and felt a sharp pain radiate up my left leg but I couldn't stop to check for damage. Running across the dark room, I headed for a dishevelled stack of barrels on the far side of the room. I threw myself down behind them and gave myself a moment to catch my breath. I didn't hear anything coming from behind me so figured that whoever was following me hadn't seen me go through the window.

I was attempting to formulate a plan when I heard a steady, if slightly out of breath, voice. "Mr Barton." The voice was male, maybe in his forties and the way he addresses me made it sound more like a official business dealing than a back alley chase.

I jumped out of my skin at hearing him speak. I prided myself on being sneaky but this guy was like a bloody ninja. And how on earth did he know my name? Most knew me as Hawkeye, there was no way this guy could have found of my real name. But he had. The only people who knew me as Clint were from the circus or from the foster system. Sorry, the only _living _people. Could that be where he knew me from? I pushed all thoughts of his origin from my mind and focused on the problem at hand, getting the hell out of here.

"Mr Barton, I know you're back there."

"Mr Barton is my dad." I gruffly replied. If this guy had got me cornered, I may as well find out who he is.

"Clinton then. I'm Agent Phil Coulson" There was a slight rustling and a metallic 'click' that had me tensing up for a second, before I realised it was probably an ID or badge of some sort. A useless gesture really, considering I could not currently see him and did not plan on giving him a clear shot to blow my brains out. "I'm from the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division, better known as SHIELD, for obvious reasons."

Oh god. Mr Snark was here. What had I done to get SHIELD after me? Half the people I killed were on their hit list for God's sake. It wasn't like I was running around killing children. Unlike most mercenaries, I had morals - or you know, as many morals a world-renowned murderer can have.

"What have I done to get SHIELD on my case?" I asked, echoing my thoughts aloud to him.

"Nothing." The mysterious man replied. I think my confused silence asked the questions for me as he continued his explanation without any prompting. "I'm not here to kill you. I'm here to recruit you." He told me, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. I don't know what it was about this man but for some reason I felt like I could trust him. Had anyone else have me cornered like this then all that would be left is a hole ridden corpse, because obviously I'd grab my arrows out of him. No need to waste good arrows. But there was something different about this guy. I'd yet to see his face but I could picture him, clean shaven, honest eyes. The fact that he'd come chasing after me across rooftops in a very expensive looking suit spoke mountains about his character alone. That was going to need some very thorough dry cleaning afterwards.

Realising I'd been silent for longer than was probably polite, – since when did I care what was polite? - I opened my mouth.

"You what?" OK yeah, so it wasn't the most eloquent of responses, but in my defence I was seriously considering the possibility that this guy had hit his head a _little _too hard.

"You heard me, I'm here to recruit you Clinton."

"No" The sudden response caught him off guard. "Not 'Clinton'. Barton, Hawkeye, Clint, anything but Clinton." He paused for a second.

"Ok, I'm here to recruit you Clint."

"…Why?" My voice came out sounding incredulous.

"Have you seen your skills with a bow? Or a gun? Or just about anything you can throw? I've never seen you miss, and I've never seen anyone anywhere near as good as you. You know this, yet you still ask why we want to recruit you?"

"Wait a minute, what do you mean you've '_never' _seen me miss_? _How long have you been following me?" His guilty silence told me everything I needed to know. I carried on before he had a chance to reply.

"And yes, funnily enough, I have seen my shooting. I'm deaf, not blind." I had no hesitation in telling him that little bit of information. Chances were he already knew, it was hardly a secret what with me being in the system for so long. "But I'm not exactly the SHIELD type, or so I thought. Ex carnie turned mercenary? I thought you were all men in dark suits and sunglasses?" Way to go Clint, why not just tell him your entire life story while you're at it.

"You see, that's where I'd disagree." Yup. This guy was either a raging crackhead or concussed beyond belief. Or both. Spose that's the kind of crazies you'll get in New York. (A/N - I have nothing against New York and don't think New Yorkers are crazy. Even if most of them are.)

"Every kill you've ever done, every contract you've taken, has either been for a quote unquote 'bad person', who is normally on our own wanted list, or someone who has hurt you in the past. You've been doing most of our work for us recently. It makes sense for you to continue doing our work for us, but legally this time. Think about it, a base to come back after every mission, the option to send in backup if you get into a situation, a constant wage, not dependent on how many heads you've blown up that month, better training, better weapons, not having to run from the law, being able to help people, being able to turn down a mission if you don't agree with it. And I mean, our R and D division is really quite spectacular. Think of all the different types of arrowheads you could have." Although his words were nice, and tempting, there was something about his tone that just didn't sit right.

"I've got no choice in this, do I?" I was proud of how I managed to keep my voice steady. Even if I could get out of this room without Suit shooting me down, the room was probably surrounded by now and I was getting low on ammo. The thought terrified me, the reality that I had no escape and was going with this man whether I wanted to or not.

He sighed. "No, not really." At least he was honest "You either come in willingly or we'll drag you in kicking and screaming."

"Well then, lead the way."

I carefully came out from behind the barrels, watching him for any hostile movements, eyes roaming over him for weapons. His eyes were doing the same, silently warning me not to be stupid. I slowly swung my bow over my shoulder before turning to him and flashing him a cocky grin.

"Where to, Boss?"


End file.
